


why don't you sit with me for just a little while?

by sirachamuchacha



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-09-17 16:56:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16978416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirachamuchacha/pseuds/sirachamuchacha
Summary: Maybe Negan wasn't born into it, but he was forced into it. Rick doesn't want to forgive him, and Negan tells him he doesn't have to.





	1. the back of your head is at the front of my mind

**Author's Note:**

> title is from gimme all your love by the alabama shakes, which inspired this fic alongside the song a little while by yellow days

Rick lives in the tallest house in Alexandria. It’s three stories high and upon first sight, Rick was sure he had never seen something so grand. When he was told by the older woman with short reddish hair that he would be living there, he thought maybe the dead walking amongst them wasn’t so bad after all; not if _that_ house got to be _his_ house.

But then he thought of Michonne and the son that she had lost. Andrea and Tara who had lost their sisters. Maggie  who had lost her mother, then her father, and ultimately her sister. Sasha who had lost Bob, and then Tyrese shortly after. He thought of everything they had to endure just to get to Alexandria, and everyone who hadn’t made it far enough to see it. While he climbed the stairs to the very top floor of the house for the first time, dressed in muddy clothes and wearing wet shoes, he thought of his own home in Georgia and how the last time he saw it, it was in shambles. He thought of his parents. Of all the cows that used to toe freely across the land. Of all the horses there was to ride. Of the chickens and their brown eggs. Of the pigs and their squealing that used to fill him with delight and laughter, but now thanks to his experiences only remind him of blood and disease.

He settles into whatever room they’ll let him have, because it's all just four pretty walls, a roof, and expensive beds. He’s grateful, he’s thankful, because it’s something he hasn’t had in so long- but it’ll never be home. Home is supposed to be safe, and he can't even sleep in his room that night because he feels so afraid. He thinks maybe these Alexandrians with their scarce food supply will try to eat he and his friends like Gareth and his group tried to, because Rick is never safe anymore. Carol tells him he is, Michonne tells him he is, but how can that be true when they can’t even look him in the eye when they say it? When they all jump at the sound of an unexpected footstep or a knock at the door?

Home is supposed to be safe, therefore there is no such thing as home anymore.

But things got easier after a while; after they adjusted. Everything became familiar, and they started to remember all the names to the faces of their neighbors. Then those neighbors started to trust them, thus a bond was formed. On the days when Carol and Michonne refused to let him go on runs, Rick, along with Glenn and Maggie, started teaching the small children in the community how to read and do basic math in the garage of their big three story house. There was an influx of comics in his life, thanks to Glenn’s connections with all the other teens of the community, and even records, too, but not many, and they were always a little scratched. Still it was better than nothing.

There was trust, there was peace- no matter how brief or episodic- there was food and water, and there was solidarity. For the first time in a long while, Rick felt his age. He felt like a teenage youth, going out in the middle of the night with Glenn and Maggie to try and steal sips of the wine stocked in the pantry, eating one or two pieces of the rationed chocolate between the three of them. They tried not to be too greedy, but they liked to indulge, and somehow they felt secure enough in Alexandria’s supplies to not feel guilty about it. There were days back on the roads where Rick would just smile and feel so guilty he wanted to die. Those days began to feel like a different life in Alexandria, like a long lost nightmare he’d had as a kid. Gone were the days when he couldn’t sleep a lick. In Alexandria, he slept long enough to dream wildly, the only thing bringing back to consciousness being the warm, warm sun. That’s how good things were.

But then some men on motorcycles appeared on the street. Then a man named Jesus came from the hilltop. Then the Saviors came along, and everything changed once again, and the peace was broken. Rick will never forget that day. He’ll never forget the feeling of his aching knees against the solid earth, he’ll never forget Simon or all the other scary men that surrounded them thickly. He’ll never forget the look of fear on Michonne’s eyes or the absence of that tenacious glint he always found reassurance in. He’ll never forget the baseball bat, or the pocket knife. He’ll never forget Negan.

-

_Eenie_

_Meenie_

_Miney_

_Moe_

Rick’s eyes are closed, and they have been almost the entire time. He’s ready to hear that voice, straight in front of him, just an inch away from his cowardice face, breathing hotly against his chin, taunting him.

_Well kid, looks like you’re it…_

He expects Simon to say something like that, but he doesn’t. And when he does speak, it's not to Rick, but to all of them. It’s a warning. He hears the sharp intake of breath, the quick hitching of sobs. Someone gasps in deeply and it sounds like Rosita, but Rick isn’t able to think about it any further before he hears the sickening snap of wood against bone.

_Him._

“Suck… my.. nuts.” It’s thick and choppy, but husky and brash.

_Abraham._

Rick braces himself for the return of that _sound_ , that horrible sound of his friend being beat so cruelly to death by a man who seemed to be enjoying it, if his constant remarks were anything to go by. Rick does his best to drown those out, to drown everything out. It was the only thing he could do without them stopping him, without stepping out of line and hurting himself or his friends. Soon he was just bones in a skin sack, kneeling on the dirt for no apparent reason, mind faraway to the safe lands of a farm during the merciful season of Fall. He smells warm breakfast beneath his nose instead of hot blood and gore, hears the sound of his mother humming and murmuring a song instead of horrid fleshy squelches.  

He was calm for a moment, but Daryl breaks out of line, punching Simon right across the face. Another one, Rick thinks, another person is going to die now and it's going to be Daryl. Inside he was crying, on the outside, he couldn’t move a muscle. He could only breathe, and that itself felt like too much.

“ _That_ is a no-no.”

Rick watches as Daryl’s face is pushed into the dirt, as a blonde man with stringy hair and a rough face begs Simon to let him kill Daryl. Simon ignored him and put Daryl back in line. Rick feels like his chest is going to burst. He catches a glimpse of Abraham’s pulverized head on the floor and feels his stomach flip. He looks back down at his knees and tries to calm his breathing, tries to get back to warm breakfast and his mother’s voice as he watches his tears rapidly hit the dirt. If only the ground beneath him would shift to mud against his tears. Then he and everyone he loved could sink into the ground and be left alone.

“Negan, take the kids eye.”

_Fuck_.

Rick’s head whips upright. _Kid?_ _That’s me._

What the hell did he miss? Who’s Negan?

Simon looks to his far right, eyes gazing just behind Rick’s head. Rick can hear the wary shuffling of feet, and then a young lanky boy goes to stand beside Simon. Rick figures he must be Negan, but this guy is just a boy. This guy who’s been ordered to take a kid’s eye looks to be just a kid himself. There’s no way he’s any older than Rick; his face is not as hardened as all the others, nor lined or wrinkled, and with the lack of age comes lack of confidence.

Simon hands Negan a pocket knife, and its blade glints beneath the attention of the truck lights that surround them. Rick watches in surprise as the boy is made to approach not him, but Glenn. “No,” Rick says underneath his breath, but it’s too faint to be heard. His lips don’t even move to make the sound, only his tongue.

“You don’t have to do this,” Maggie pleads, voice shaky and strained as she looks over at a helpless Glenn.

“Aw, c’mon! It’s just one eye, darlin’,” Simon chuckles, “Now quit your whining before I tell Negan here to take em both. Then this fine young man will never be able to see that pretty little face of yours ever again! You wouldn’t want that would you?”

Maggie says nothing, but glares deeply at him. The kind of glare she gives Rick when he teases her about Glenn, only there is no lightness, no underlayer of friendship.

Simon smirks and pats her cheek.

“You watch how you’re lookin at me, sweetheart, or I’ll have Negan take one from you and ll you little friends, too.”

Maggie bites the inside of her cheek and looks down at her knees.

Simon laughs, patting Negan’s shoulder and guiding him forward, towards Glenn.

“Well Negan, hop to it. Careful not to dig too deep or you’ll kill the kid, and _you_ don’t get to kill ‘em. Not yet at least.”

The air becomes even more tense, and Rick can feel his group strain to breathe, quieter than ever.

Negan saunters towards Glenn, kneeling before him. Rick feels his hands shakin. For a moment he forgot he even had them, he couldn’t feel them connected to his body. Michonne hiccups, “Please, he’s just a kid. They’re both just kids.”

Negan falters, Rick sees it. The knife slips in his sweaty hand and lands a strike against Glenn’s forehead.

Simon slinks towards Michonne, taking his time, looking down upon her. His stare is cold and untelling for a moment, and their staring contest lasts a good while before Simon just breaks into a laugh.

“Oh, sweetie,” he says, wiping away tears, “Oh sweetheart, you’re too cute! You really think there’s such a thing as kids in this fucking world? You think these little fuckers are just sweet, innocent, naive little children? How many people have your children killed? That’s what I’d like to fucking know.”

Michonne can’t answer. Her voice is caught.

“That’s what I thought,” he walks away, nodding towards Negan, “Now let her rip, son.”

There’s a brief moment of hesitation, then an unsettling squelch. Glenn screams promptly after. Maggie sobs and Michonne cries. All of them cry, but Rick feels relieved, horribly so. He looks at Abraham- what's left of him- and is relieved Glenn, his best friend, didn’t join him.

-

A deal was made that night: half their stuff belongs to Simon now, and every week The Saviors will come and take their share of supplies. For complete tyranny, the deal seems somewhat fair, maybe even a hint ethical- but they all know it isn’t. Still Rick hopes, from somewhere wild within him, that this isn’t as bad as it seems. That the gray gloomy haze surrounding Alexandria will fade away like fog by midday, because that’s the thing about Alexandria: this place always has him hoping. Nevermind that hope is never enough anymore.

Everyday since the incident Rick has been in the infirmary keeping Glenn company. He doesn’t really need Rick’s time, considering Maggie is latched onto his side, and everyone else in their group stops by on the regular to do their fair share of doting. The visits are more for Rick’s sake, really; it’s soothing to see the boy’s face alive and full of color, left eye gone but smile still intact.

When afternoon meets dusk, Maggie goes off to find some food so the three of them can have dinner, and it’s just he and Glenn in the infirmary.

“She hasn’t said anything to you, dude? Nothing about.. you know.. the two of you?”

Glenn shakes his head, and Rick guffaws.

“And you haven’t said anything to her either?”

Yet another shake of the head.

Rick gives him an exasperated look, and he wants to shake the boy’s bed like a rag doll. “Are you freakin’ kidding me? Not even after all the shit that happened?? Glenn, this would be the perfect time for you to just tell her!”

Glenn chuckles, but it is half empty.

“Not really, Rick. I mean, before Alexandria it was a flexible _maybe_. Between me and every other kid in the group, aka you aka gay, I had a fair chance because I was the only option. Now that we’re here, with more people our age, I’m pretty much a plan z, you know what I mean? Especially now,” He gestures a thumb where his left eye should be, and while he tries to be casual and joking, there’s obvious insecurity in his tone.

“Glenn-”

“You don’t have to say it. I know, I know. Whatever you feel the need to remind me of I can one hundred percent reassure you Michonne has already spoken to me about. I just...it's just hard. I was so used to having two eyes. And you know that Joni Mitchell record, the one that’s like, ‘you don’t know what you got ‘til it's gone’? She was so right.”

Rick smiles. “It’s the only record we have that isn’t scratched,” he says, and as a chuckle spills out of him, his emotions begin to snowball from amusement to fondness to empathy to nostalgia to sadness as he recalls memories of he and Glenn and that shitty record player. Of Glenn talking about Maggie and how much he likes her, and Rick telling Glenn about how he’s unable to understand why he’s never felt that way about a girl.

The taunting question of _will things ever get back to that?_ prods around in his head.

“Hey, man, don’t cry,” Glenn says, “Well actually, go ahead it’s probably good for you, but you don’t have to worry about me. It’s just an eye, I’m sure I’ll get over it soon. Coulda been way worse, right?”

The underlying message of Abraham makes Rick cry even harder. Glenn just rubs his back until all Rick can do is sniffle and catch his breath. Then he settles back down onto his bed, and Rick leans into his chair, wiping his nose firmly as if to gather his dignity. He looks at Glenn, at his eye patch and the slightly dirtied gauze that lays beneath it. Morbidly he wonders what the vacant socket must look like. Morbidly he thinks about revenge.

“Would you kill them?” He asks Glenn.

“What?”

“Would you kill them if you could? If you got the chance?”

“Them as in like, Simon and his crew?”

Rick nods.

Glenn blinks, looking thoughtfully to the side.

“No,” he says.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. But it's only been a few days since we made the deal. Maybe I’ll change my mind in a week or two.”

Rick smiles at his honesty.

Maggie returns with food soon after that. Rick eats his share, enjoying the easy conversation between them before he leaves them for the night.

Back at his house, everything is too quiet. Maggie is gone from the second floor, as is Glenn. Carol has gone somewhere that Michonne has been very tight lipped about. Altogether, it is just Rick and Michonne herself occupying the too big house, and the two of them have been nothing but quiet for nearly a week.

Michonne is in the kitchen when Rick returns. Her back is facing him as she sits before the counter, hunched over a cup of tea. For a moment, Rick thinks she has fallen asleep with the way her head falls so heavily over her shoulders, but then he watches her shoulders shake and tremble, and he hears that universal sniffle of soft crying. He has never once seen Michonne cry apart from the night they lost Abraham, and come to think of it, he finds that very concerning. It’s good to cry, everyone has always told him that. Glenn just told him that a few minutes ago. So he gives Michonne her privacy and quietly pads back into his room where things feel normal. As close to normal as things can get.

He closes his eyes, and waits, That night he doesn’t dream. The next morning he wakes up to a knock on his door. He groans out a noise of admittance and then Michonne enters. Rick stuffs his face in his pillow, shielding his eyes from the overpleasant sun. Rick nearly falls asleep again before she speaks.

“The Saviors are coming today.”

Rick looks up at her, notices her puffy eyes.

“Okay,” he says.

“I just wanted to let you know so you weren’t taken by surprise.”

As if Rick could forget the day they were coming back.

“Okay,” he says.

Michonne lingers by the door, hoping Rick will say something more, hoping he’ll show her some brightness that’ll make her feel less despair in the way that youths usually do.

But all Rick does is roll over and face the wall.

“Eat your breakfast,” she says, “Carol should be coming back today. She wants to take you and Maggie out hunting later. Maybe even Glenn.”

“Okay.” Yet again.

Finally the door clicks shut, and Rick is left alone to stare at the ceiling. Everything is so quiet and wonderful, and the light trickles in politely, filling the room with a juicy type of warmth. He begs to be left in it for a few moments more, but his body tells him to get up and his guilt makes him listen. He washes up, finds a clean set of clothes, then he eats his breakfast, not registering any taste or flavor, before he hurries out the front door to make his daily visit to the infirmary. It's no surprise to see Maggie already there by his side, though today she wears the same grim expression Rick relates to deeply, and even Glenn himself is unusually solemn. Still, once the three of them gather together, everything feels better. Recently on a run Rick had found three copies of Of Mice and Men in an abandoned school a long ways from Alexandria, and he Glenn and Maggie finished the book in just a few hours one night. They talk about it now, about beans and ketchup, how they have all the ingredients for _that_ recipe.

“Y’all are sick,” Maggie grimaces, “I could never eat that.”

Glenn laughs at her, “We ate frickin medium rare dog once and you’re telling me you wouldn’t eat canned beans with ketchup?”  
“It was stray dog, too,” Rick adds, scrunching his nose.

Maggie sighs, “Well, when you put it that way…”

They talk about how short the book was, and how they’d like to find another one. Rick says he’ll be sure to keep an eye out for books on future runs. Maggie mentions she’s had pet rabbits before, like Lennie had dreamed of having. Glenn equates the feeling of George having to shoot Lennie so the others wouldn’t inhumanely torture him to the feeling of watching Aiden shoot himself in front of a crowd of zombies so he wouldn’t feel them eat him alive.

Rick and Maggie go silent at that, and the tension builds. All of the booktalk stops then, and a darker cloud breaches above the three of their heads.

“They come today,” Rick says, though they all know.

Maggie tightens her fist around a handful of Glenn’s sheets.

“I know,” Glenn says, “You guys should go back to our house. Stand watch.”

“I’m not leaving you here,” Maggie says without skipping a beat, and Glenn looks up at her with surprise in his eyes. Maggie clears her throat, “Not when you’re by yourself. Tara’s gone, and that means you’re the only one in here. I’m not leaving you by yourself.”

“I’m not in the ICU, Maggie, I’ll be fine. Really, this is kinda just like a vacation. I get to stay in here and stare at the ceiling and sometimes Tara tells jokes that are actually funny and I laugh at ‘em. I’m fine, really, I promise.”

“I’ll go back,” Rick says before they can argue any further, “You can stay here Maggie. I’ll keep watch, I can handle it.”

The two of them look over at him.

“Thanks, Rick,” Maggie says. Her voice is so genuine it nearly embarrasses him, and all he can do is nod before he finally leaves the infirmary.

-

Rick knows when they’re there. He hears the gate squeal as it’s pulled back, feels the tension in the air as everyone is pulled taut and hides their fear in the security of their garages. Rick only tries to hide his grief as he sits in the attic of his three story house, watching through a window as Simon parades through Alexandria, Michonne dragging her feet alongside him. Behind him is the same blond man with the rough face from that night at the clearing, and a young woman with overgrown bleach blonde hair. Behind those two is a burly white man and the younger kid, Negan, who took Glenn’s eye. Rick watches in despair as they all share a look, and then the four break off from Simon. They survey the area, eyeing the houses to see which one is more to their liking. Rick keeps his eye on Negan, out of hatred and a mild sense of curiosity. He thinks it’s his staring that makes Negan pick his house out of all the rest, nevermind the way its size makes it tower over all the others.

Still he curses when he sees the boy’s boot hit the first step of the porch, and he scurries out of the attic, heading all the way downstairs to his room to search for a weapon in his state of panic. As he hears the sound of the door opening, Rick’s instincts tell him he must fight. He listens with his back pressed to the wall, right beside the door, as those footsteps come nearer, as Negan lets out a taunting whistle to make his presence known. Rick sucks in his breath, becoming as silent as he can manage. His hands tremble as he brushes his fingers over the gun holstered at his side. He knows the fear he feels is irrational, he’s been in many altercations much worse than a quasi-home invader, but the possibilities laid out before him and the idea of how much power Simon and his group hold over them leaves Rick shaking on edge.

“Why the fuck are you hiding? I’ve been whistling like a-”

Rick grabs a small kitchen knife off the top of his dresser and acts quick, pushing Negan into the wall opposite his doorway and pressing the blade just below his adam’s apple. Negan hiccups, eyes wide for a brief moment in time as Rick glares at him.

That night in the clearing, despite the hair that slightly covered his face, perhaps in shame but who knows, Rick could see that Negan was young. Up close, right now, he looks even younger. At the clearing, he did not look powerful, nor does he today. But as the seconds tick by, something in his expression flips like a switch, and his stare obtains a new glaze as though he’s just peeled back an invisible eyelid.

“You’re scared of me, aren’t you?”

Rick’s eyes flicker away from Negan’s, instead focusing on the blade he has pushed against his throat, and the conviction he has set forth.

“What are you doing in my house?” Rick asks, voice all too steady to be calm.

Negan bores into his eyes. His fright has wholly subsided by now, leaving behind the gloss of amusement. That expression chills Rick; it reminds him of Simon, of the governor, of that claimer man that tried to rape him, of Gareth, of sinister happenings and malevolence.

“You know,” Negan begins, voice low, “your eyes are a whole lot prettier than that other guys. Couldn’t really notice when all I saw was the back of your head that night. Maybe I shoulda taken one of your eyes instead? Kept it in my pocket like a pretty blue topaz gem.”

Rick grunts, banging Negan’s body against the wall, pressing the same knife Michonne uses to peel sweet potatoes harder against Negan’s throat.

Negan stiffens.

“I’ll fucking kill you,” Rick seethes, “Now tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“You know what,” Rick says, and when Negan doesn’t answer, his moves the knife lower, digging it softly into the thin skin of his clavicle until blood is being drawn, viscous and so frustratingly red. “Tell me why you’re in my house.”

“Why do you fucking think?” Negan spits, “This is my goddamn job.”

Rick’s hold softens as he ponders the implications, and Negan takes the opportunity to push Rick off of him and continue scoping as he pleases. It only seems right and fair that Rick’s room is his first destination.

“This isn’t fair! You can’t just come into my room and take whatever you want,” Rick says as he watches Negan survey all of his belongings like a kid in a candy store.

“Of course I can!” He says, “Just watch."

And Rick watches. He watches as Negan takes his favorite shirt, the pocket knife he had threatened Negan with, Glenn’s watch given to him by Hershel, Maggie’s favorite Fleetwood Mac records, his bed.

He stopped keeping track after they took his bed, his fiery rage long gone. Instead he leaves to the kitchen, unable to watch any longer as Negan removes every good part of his life from his room. Instead he sits at the island with his head laying on his arms, doing all of nothing to stop it from being taken.

_At least he didn’t take my only pair of jeans,_ Rick thinks. He recognizes that as the slightest sign of human decency. If that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u for reading!!!! <33


	2. soon i'll crack it open just to see what's inside

Negan stood there like a post, with his posture straight and stiff and his gaze straight ahead. The gun strapped to his hip was heavy, the fog coming from his lips thick and puffy as it broke through the cold air. His chest felt like a wooden block; hollow in the sense that it is porous, fragile in the sense that it can splinter. There was no reason for him to feel fear as he stood surrounded by fifty some odd men that were all on  _ his _ side, holding all of the power in their numbers and the soft leather of their fingerless gloves. But still his hands shook, and his teeth chattered with nerves. Simon bellowed his words at the strangers kneeled before him, and it brought him back to when his group, or what had been left of it after Simon, had been corrupted by the Saviors. 

As the bat fell down upon the red haired man’s head over and over and over, Negan looked at his feet for as long as he could, shutting his eyes with all his might, thinking of his group members who had faced the same fate. Then one of the older Saviors, a man of course, tapped his shoulder rather hard, forcing him to look up at the mush and the mess.  _ Like a man _ , he could hear them say, though they did not speak,  _ Be a man and look. _ Negan wondered what that could possibly mean. Murder and gore to be a man seems like a cheap exchange. Still Negan lifted his head, though not entirely, and instead of watching Simon laugh and grin, he found his eyes locked on the head of hair just a few feet in front of him; brown and curly with waves that covered the nape of his neck in that post apocalyptic overgrown shag Negan himself wore. A coat of dark suede and cream colored wool covered the boys shoulders as he shook with his sobs. Negan watched as they’d go still every once in a while, his back expanding with deep calming breaths before he’d cry again, ending his brief episode of peace. It was slightly pathetic, watching the other boy cower in fear. Just from his size and his demeanor, how easy he was to break, Negan figured he had to be young. Because of that, he wanted the boy to be stronger. He wanted him to be unphased and stoic. Negan wanted to go up to him and whisper in his ear the most essential secret when it came to Simon:  _ He likes watching you like this. Don’t give him what he wants. Stop crying. _

Negan hasn’t cried in months. He won’t allow himself to. He has no need to. Now that he’s with The Saviors, he is nothing but grateful. He should be nothing but grateful. 

Still when Negan’s back at his outpost after that night, lying in his springy bed, he sees those shoulders shaking and those curls shining like ribbons in the dry rough cold, and he wonders what he himself looked like that night everything in his own life changed. He couldn’t have looked any better. 

-

Rick hadn’t realized how many articles of clothing he had before the Saviors. Of course it wasn’t as much as he had before the dead started walking, but now, as he washes his dirty laundry, he sees how lucky he once had been, and how ungrateful he was. Three shirts, one pair of jeans, three pairs of socks, four pairs of underwear, and one pair of boots; that’s what he has to his wardrobe now. It’s something, Rick figures, and that is good enough. At least he won’t ever have much to wash now, and that’s less of Alexandria’s solar energy he’ll have to take up. Of course, the sun is abundant, but somehow Rick still feels guilty for using it. That’s how he finds himself at a pond not too far from Alexandria, a washing board between his legs and water between his bare feet. And it reminds him of the early days at the clearing, where’d he help Carol’s daughter Sophia catch frogs and skip rocks. Only difference now is he has a gun holstered to his hip at all times. That, and he’s alone; no sounds of laughing or talking. As an angsty sixteen year old, Rick had always wished for people to just vanish, to leave him alone. He doesn’t know how old he is now, maybe a few years older, but now that wish has become his biggest fear. The thought depresses him, and as he does his best to fight the sadness and the tears it produces, he rubs his flannel too roughly into the washboard, and it rips. Just a small hole, but it's something. Rick remembers Andrea and her warnings. “You gotta fold the clothing maybe once or twice, thicken it up so it won’t tear.” His sadness melds with newfound anger and his tears spill down his cheeks. The thin worn down flannel finds its fate in the woe of his hands, and in half it goes. 

Just two shirts now. 

-

Two weeks and Negan returns to Alexandria, this time all on his own. He knocks on the door of the three story house, and Rick answers. His face shifts from idle to irritated, and he leans against the door frame with sass in his hips, arms crossed over his chest. 

“What do you want?”   
Negan smiles. 

“Boss sent me down. Lookin’ for a Michonne, heard she lives here. That true, Ricky?”   


Rick narrows his eyes, surveying the taller boy’s face. 

“She’s not home.”

“Mind if I come in then?” He says, “Just ‘til she gets back.”

A heavy sigh blows Negan’s way like a spring breeze. If a spring breeze could ever carry an air of detest. 

“Fine.” As soon as the word is muttered Negan is pushing past the guard of Rick’s sturdy shoulders and walking into his house. Just like the first time he ever stepped foot in the place, Negan finds himself walking around, taking in every little homely detail. From the way the ceilings are painted a pretty country cream color, to the marble of the kitchen island, and the way the luxuriously heavy looking bookshelf in the living room stands tall but hollow, scarcely filled with books. Most of them are Bibles. Negan thinks that’s funny. 

“This is a real nice place you have here, Rick. Aren’t you just a lucky boy?”

“Shut up,” Rick says. It’s then he realizes he’s been shadowing Negan, and immediately he detaches himself, shaking his head full of irritation and heading towards the kitchen, “I don’t want to be around you. I’m making myself tea.”

Negan follows him into the kitchen. “What kind of tea?”

“Mind your own business.”

“If I were you, I’d watch how you’re talking to me, Rick.”

“I’m not you. Don’t ever compare yourself to me.”   
Rick sets up his tea kettle. Negan sits at the island, propping his head up on his palm and grinning up at the boy. Rick turns to look at him a moment later and rolls his eyes. 

“Herbal tea,” Rick says, “Chamomile. We grow it here ourselves.”

“That’s nice, Rick,” Negan gives him a warm smile, and deep down maybe it’s real, “We’ll be taking half of that.”   
Rick goes quiet then, biting on his squirming tongue. When his tea is done, he sips on it despite its scalding state. He keeps his eyes trained on the tile of the kitchen wall, his back to Negan even as he hears the boy get up from his chair and leave to another room. When he’s finished more than half of his mug, and his nerves have still not been distilled, he follows Negan again. Rick is not surprised to find Negan in his room. There’s three other people living here, three other floors, an attic and a basement, and still he’s not surprised. But seeing Negan rummage through his things a second time, seeing the boy try and purge him of his belongings yet again only serves to make Rick’s blood boil, his stomach hot from the tea and its futility. He watches as Negan’s long fingers snatch up his thin and frail paperback copy of Of Mice and Men and he nearly bites through his entire cheek as Negan’s attention lingers on it. Rick watches as he studies the cover, then the reviews on the back. He watches as he flips through the thick pages. 

“Mind if I borrow this? I’ll bring it back when I’m done.” His tone is casual, though Rick believes not a second of it.

“ _ Why _ do you wanna take everything I have?” Rick shouts his words, “Don’t you know what it's like to have  _ nothing _ ?!”

Negan looks at him like he’s a mole on his back, then scoffs. 

“Calm your fucking shit, I said I’ll bring it back.”

“You think I actually believe you? Are you a fucking  _ dumbass _ ?” 

Negan rolls his eyes, shrugging so carelessly. 

Rick returns the gesture mockingly. “Fuck you, just fucking take it. I don’t care. Take whatever you fucking want,” he says as he leaves the room. 

“Now that’s the spirit, Rick!” Negan says, peeking his head out of the doorway as he watches Rick leave, “That’s what I like to fucking hear!”

Rick reaches out to twist the knob of the front door, and Negan feels something like fondness tickle the dead meat in his chest. 

-

When Rick leaves his house, Maggie is only a few yards ahead of him. She has a mean look set upon her brow, and her gun posed readily in her hand. It would be startling if Rick didn’t know she was giving Glenn target practice on the far side of Alexandria every other day, so of that he’s not worried. But her face is telling, and Rick’s gut curls into a ball. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks immediately. Maggie’s barely in hearing distance, but she feels those words all around her. 

“Who’s in there?” Maggie says, “It’s him isn’t it? The one who hurt Glenn?”

Rick’s eyes widen as Maggie comes nearer, clearly making her way towards the house Negan is still in. He grabs her wrist, stopping her. 

“Maggie, people are staring. I think you should put the gun away.” 

Her gaze flicks around, like she is just now becoming aware of her surroundings. Old people are staring at her from their porches. She gains a bit of humility from their sagging eyes.

“I hate it when you use that tone,” she says, though she puts her gun back into the holster, letting out a deep breath, “So damn calm, all the time.”

“I’m not calm,” Rick says, “Trust me. I just have to be.”

Maggie shakes her head. 

“He’s in there,” she says about the house, her nose pointed towards it. 

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes. It does.”

“He takes what he wants. Whether we like it or not, whether we or anyone else is alive or not. It's safer to just stay out of the way.”

“I heard you yelling at him.”

Rick shrugs, biting the inside of his cheek. 

“It’s not worth it,” he says, loosening his grip around her wrist in miniscule episodes. He feels his words have tranquilized her. “Let’s go back to Glenn.”

She eyes the house, gaze scanning from story to story until she is sated. Then she turns and leads the way and Rick follows her.

“You two look weird,” Glenn says when he first catches sight of the both of them, “What’s wrong?” And that’s the thing about being around someone for days on end, having no chance for privacy, no choice but to be vulnerable and organic. They see every part of you. They know every shift and nuance, they learn to recognize it, sometimes vocally or sometimes as a note in the back of their head- a solid memento to keep check on good or bad days. Rick wishes he had more privacy. It would let him be with his sadness more often, so that way he could maybe finally understand it. 

“The Saviors,” Maggie says.

“Special visit,” Rick adds.

Glenn raises an eyebrow. “We only speaking in two word sentences now? Freaks.” He retrieves his gun from Maggie’s holster and turns, holding it up to aim. “Guys wanna watch me try and shoot this stupid can?”

-

Negan returns a week later, only this time is different. This time Negan comes on his own, without the consent or order of Simon. When he arrives in Alexandria, climbing up and over the farthest unguarded side of the wall, it’s nearly one in the morning. His dark clothes camouflage him in the night as he glides through the air, swiftly making his way towards that large house on the corner. Under the mat is a key, so cliche and homey, and Negan snags it, unlocking the front door and replacing it before he slips right in. The book tucked beneath his arm warms his side like an ember, and despite his calm exterior, on the inside he is oddly giddy. Not the type of giddy resulting from someone’s misfortune, or like the amusement he gathered from stealing Rick’s clothes. What Negan feels now is more like anticipation, more like excitement. He’s not sure why that is. 

Negan turns, takes the few steps down the hall until he’s at Rick’s door. Softly, he opens it, a keen squeal resounding. It's a quiet sound, nothing that would shake even the lightest sleeper. So when Rick snaps his head towards the door, Negan is surprised. 

Even though he lies on the darkness of the blanketed floor, Negan can see Rick’s bewildered expression, the way it twists and contorts his face. 

With a smirk, Negan lifts a finger to his lips, shushing the boy quietly. 

“Can’t sleep, Rick?” He asks, his voice a low gritty sound.

“No,” Rick says. 

“Don’t blame you,” he toes at Rick’s makeshift bed, “Your little set up here looks fucking pitiful.”

Rick rolls his eyes, sighing sharply as he turns his back towards Negan and faces the window, bathing in the thick moonlight.

“What do you want?” He says. 

“Came to give you back your book, Rick. Like the great fucking person I am.”   


“You couldn’t have come in the morning? When I’m not trying to sleep? Like the great fucking person you are.”

Negan raises an eyebrow at the shift in his tone. The sharpness of it and the ill concealed anger. 

“I stuck to my word. Don’t you think that deserves a thank you, Rick?”

Rick says nothing, but the lack of an answer suffices as no. 

“Say thank you, Rick.”   


Rick’s voice is blank and obedient as he says it, “Thank you.”   


“Once more with feeling, sweetheart.”   


Rick grits his teeth at the pet name, rolling his eyes as he stares out the window. 

“You sound like that idiot with the mustache who runs your group.”   


At that, Negan lets out a humorless laugh. It doesn’t help lessen the sting of the words, however. He takes a seat on Rick’s floor, his back against the dresser, it's handles digging into the flesh of his back.

“Why are you awake?” Negan asks.

Rick’s brows knit together at the sound of the others voice. There’s a lilt of curiosity in his throat that takes away from his evil, making him sound young and impressionable. 

“Couldn’t sleep,” Rick answers, and before Negan can ask why, he provides, “Too many bad dreams.”   


There’s a pause. 

“Bad dreams, huh?” Negan says, “What do you see in those dreams?”   


“Of course  _ you _ would ask me to relive my nightmares like that.” 

There’s humor in Rick’s voice, and he smiles at the windowpane, whimsical and honest. There is a bit of pain residing in his tone that makes Negan feel at home. His lips twitch as he stares down at the blanketed lump that is Rick’s stubborn body.

“Um, I just had a dream I was at my house. I have this dream a lot, where I’m sitting at my kitchen table and it’s the morning time. My Dad is off at work already because he has to commute an hour, and I’m sitting at my kitchen table eating cereal before school. My mom’s at the sink, doing whatever she’s doing, her back facing me. She’s talking and talking, going on about something but I can’t make out a word. I can’t make out a word, but every second she keeps on talking I feel myself getting angrier until finally I yell at her and she turns around and scolds me. But when she turns around, her face is all mangled and her skull is split into two and her eye is hanging out of the socket.”

“Wow,” Negan says, and there’s a break where Rick mumbles in likeness, then silence continues. Negan swallows, and the sound of his dry throat clicking is giant. “So uh… what cereal were you eating?”

Rick rolls around, facing Negan just to raise a questioning brow in his direction.

“In your dream,” Negan clarifies. 

Rick huffs a small, airy laugh. “Fruity pebbles,” he says. 

Immediately Negan is letting out a loud groan, so dramatic and earnest Rick feels his eyes widen in shock. For a second he forgets they’re not the only two in the house, but quickly he regains his wits and shushes Negan with a push of his breath. 

“I fucking miss Fruity Pebbles,” Negan says now, quieter, “That shit was like crack to me. Pure, unadulterated crack.”

Rick smiles. “They’re the best.”   


“How old are you?” Negan asks. 

Rick shrugs, and Negan laughs. Dumb question. 

“I was born in 1999.”

“Really? Me too! July 7th.”   


“I was born December 30th.”

They talk for nearly two hours. 

Rick is from Georgia, Negan is from Virginia. 

Rick’s Dad died before the apocalypse, and his Mom during. Negan was quiet during that exchange, a very obvious but expected wall between the,. 

Rick hates math. Negan loves it. 

Rick likes books but prefers comics. Negan hates books but liked Of Mice and Men, said it was better when he wasn’t forced to read it by an English teacher. 

Rick was on the roads before Alexandria, with his group. Negan was in a camp that was comprised of mostly women. 

They learn all this and more about each other, before Negan remembers the time. There’s a creak in the stairs, signifying someone else in the house is awake. Then there’s the flush of the toilet and a loud yawn. Rick breathes again, then says, “Just Glenn with his 4am piss.”

When the steps heading upstairs thin out and go quiet, Negan says, “I should go.”   
Rick, just now realizing how long Negan had been in his room, talking with him, is slightly dazed. 

Did they really just do that? Did they just talk? 

He’s trying to review their entire conversation as Negan removes himself from the carpeted flooring. 

“Bye,” Rick says, terse and distant. Negan just nods, not saying anything. Discomfort pulls at his gut as he slips pasts the confines of Alexandria. As he ventures down the road, the soft moans of the dead humming in his ears, Rick’s laugh replays in his mind as if on loop. 

Back in his room at The Sanctuary, he digs his head into his new mattress, searching for comfort. Everything is cold and gray, smelling dull and lifeless. The concrete floors and walls laugh at him, mocking him. He wishes he were laying on carpet, his cheek against the ground, not sleeping but talking. Talking to someone who is like him, but also not at all. Talking to someone his age. Someone with a soft Southern voice. He wishes he was talking to Rick. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u all for reading and thank u for your kind comments <33


	3. marry me, i'll wait until your fast asleep

Rick is in Alexandria, sitting in his neighbor’s garage. There’s a small circle of kids in front of him, eyeing him with giant googly eyes as he reads to them short books with as much gusto as his tired body can muster. He watches them write with pencils too big for their hands, he hears them recite their alphabet with ease, and he can’t help but both pity and envy them, all at the same time. That happens every session, but usually he’ll have Glenn and Maggie there to sympathize alongside him. Today Glenn is out beyond the wall, taking his target practice to the next level with the actual threat of the dead, shooting their stalking bodies until he finally gets them point blank in the head. Maggie is there by his side, hand poised on the gun she wears on her hip like it’s an extension of her body. 

When his lesson with the Alexandrian children is done, Rick sits there in the empty garage feeling blank and alone. He should have gone with his friends, he thinks. He hates looking at the dead, he hates shooting them and smelling their rotten blood, hates hearing them moan and hearing their feet scuff the earth. But he should’ve gone, just so he wouldn’t be alone. Just so these children wouldn’t spark nostalgic despair in his gut. Just so he wouldn’t crave their ignorance. 

He should have died with his Mom, he thinks. He should’ve left this world with her, just so he wouldn’t be alone. Just so he’d have someone the way a child has a mother. Rick catches himself thinking these thoughts and shakes his head, but still the world feels out of focus. He doesn’t snap out of it until the garage door opens, and the older man that owns the house finds Rick there in a daze. 

“Son?” He says, in his soft tempered voice, “Is something wrong?”

Rick blinks.

“No —no, I just. I’m okay.”

He is stared at for a second before the man speaks again. 

“Come in,” he says, “You look like you could use a piece of fruit.”   
Rick raises an eyebrow, but the man turns his back before he can see it.

“I eat plenty of fruit,” Rick says, following him into his house. Alexandria has an orchard, after all, but he doesn't say this. Surely the old man already knows. 

“Something that isn’t an apple,” he laughs, “Sit where you’d like.”

The words go in one ear and out the other as Rick sets foot in the living room, his eyes falling upon a large bookshelf that nearly meets the ceiling. There were so many books, and unlike the meek bookshelf Rick had in his own house, this one wasn’t stocked full of bibles and cookbooks. Instead, off the spines of the books, Rick read the richness of diverse names and intriguing, ominous titles.

“Or don’t sit,” the old man jokes, “But I want you to try this and tell me what you think.”

Rick turns and receives a piece of fruit leather that is the same shade of yellow orange that you’d see in a sunset. He takes a bite, though reluctant, and chews. 

“Peach?” Rick’s cheeks are puffy with food. He takes another bite, appreciating the sweetness, the chewiness of the dried fruit. 

The old man smiles, nodding. 

“I like it,” Rick says, “It’s good.”   
“I’ll pack some up for you to take to your family.” The old man heads back into his kitchen before Rick can murmur negatives or positives. 

_ Family. _

Michonne, Glenn, Maggie, Carol; family. 

Rick turns back to the shelf, trying to forget lest he enter yet another daze in the middle of this man’s house. His eyes grace upon the spine of a crinkled paperback. He squints, reading the title:  _ Norwegian Wood, Haruki Murakami. _ He plucks it out of place with his fingers and studies the cover just as the old man returns with a bag of peachy fruit leather.

“Can you put this in the bag for me, too?” Rick asks. He’s unsure why he does, however. He’s never been a very forward person. 

“What book is it?”

“Norwegian Wood.”   
“Ah,” the old man sighs, “That’s one of my favorites.”

There’s a look in his eyes so wistful that Rick opens his mouth to take back what he had just asked, thinking maybe he has asked too much.

“Take it,” the old man says, “It’s better I share it then keep it to myself. I’m an old man, it’ll just die with me otherwise.”

“Thank you,” Rick says, hoping his voice conveys his sincerity. 

He leaves on the receiving end of a wave and a warm smile, and as he heads into the street, he looks to his right and sees the gates open for a long black truck. Michonne and Simon, stand in front of it, talking with tight faces, and  the numerous amounts of Saviors that accompany the moustached man circle around them. Rick only searches for one person in particular, his eyes squinting against the sun before he brings a hand up to lesson the strain. When someone touches his shoulder, Rick flinches out of his concentration. 

“Did I scare ya?” Negan’s jaw is sharp and crooked with the angle of his smirk. 

“No!” Rick yells, defensive, but in the end he can’t help but laugh. “C’mon,” he says, leading  Negan back to his house, careless about who may see. 

Once inside, he shows Negan to his room, much to the other’s surprise. All the previous times he’s been in Rick’s room, there was never an invitation extended. It is broad daylight outside, 

bright and unforgiving. Negan turns his head at every slight sound, remembering, believing that they are not alone.

"I should go, Rick. I can't be in here." 

"Simon won't let you?" 

"It's not that, it's just— didn't you say there were others?" he gestures towards the ceiling. Rick smiles. Consideration is a nice thing. Remembering details is a beautiful thing. "You can stay," he says, yet another unspoken invitation, "The others are out for the day."

Negan feels a bit more at ease knowing that. 

“Sit anywhere,” Rick says, and Negan smirks at the subtle humor. There are no chairs. He has no bed. Negan sits at the rug in the center of the room and looks down at its colorful artistry, at the uniqueness in each weave. 

“I got this book,” Rick says then, sitting just beside him. Their knees touch and it insites more fear in Negan than the time Rick pressed a blade against his throat. 

“Yeah?” he says. There are a few holes in Rick’s jeans, just around the spots where his thigh meets the knee. He wants to reach out and touch the skin that peaks through, but he doesn’t. How could he? “What book is it?”

“Norwegian Wood. You heard of it?”

“No.”

Rick smiles, “Me either.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then, “Do you wanna read it with me?”

“ _ You _ wanna read with me?”

Rick starts to speak, but then stops. Negan dotes on his parted lips. Rick flushes pink.

“I’m trying to be nice, okay? I’m trying to be civil,” he flips through the paperback’s pages awkwardly, “Don’t make me  _ not  _ want to read with you.”

Negan watches as Rick fingers his way to the first page.

“Was just a question,” he says, but he can’t bite down his smile. Rick takes notice of his silly look, and it intrigues him, makes him feel warm.

“You ask too many questions,” Rick says. If there’s a hint of bite in his tone, it can’t be helped. He opens up the book to the first page, placing it between he and Negan. It isn’t long before silence envelopes them, and they’re reading away until an hour passes, their breathing gone in sync and their knees grazing comfortably, the only sound between them being the flipping of pages. 

If it hadn’t been for Glenn barging in through the door, his mouth open wide with the beginnings of an exciting invitation to converse with Rick, who knows how much longer the two boys would’ve been lost in that quiet space of time where no hate, no guilt, no scorn was viable. Rick looks up at where Glenn stands, and the timid smile he hadn’t been aware of falls away as his jaw unhinges, panic rising in his gut while his eyes widen and stretch like large bubbles under water. 

“Rick?” Glenn begins, and he sounds so utterly betrayed, so struck— his voice goes up an octave, “Who— why is he, what is he doing here?”

“Glenn,” Rick says, and then breathes in. Negan is warm beside him, his arm pressed against Rick’s. Something about it is intoxicating, making his brain muggy. There are so many things he could say to Glenn.

_ Glenn, I know how this looks. I know he took your eye. I know I should hate it him, and I do. I swear I do.  _

_ Glenn. He’s not that bad. He’s tolerable.  _

_ Glenn, he didn’t mean it. I’ll speak for him, he’ll never use his voice against you. He didn’t mean what he did to you.  _

Of all things he could’ve said, be it a lie or the truth, Rick says, “Glenn, please don’t tell Maggie.”

His voice is pitiful and pleading, for many reasons. Glenn scoffs at his remark, yanking the doorknob on his way out. “I’m telling Maggie.”   
The door shuts, and the smooth rapport between he and Negan is cut. Rick sighs with distress.

“You didn’t hear them?” He asks Negan, his voice high and angry. 

“No,” Negan says. He looks into Rick’s eyes, and his face is soft and Rick can’t stand that he’s telling the truth. 

“You wanted them to come in,” Rick says, “You wanted them to know you were here, you—”   
He stands up, tearing the book away from where their eyes once shared it and throwing it on his makeshift bed. 

“You never told me you didn’t want them to know. Did you expect me to just know that?”

Rick turns, squinting, scrutinizing Negan from where he sits below him. 

“Yes!” He spits out, “Glenn is my  _ friend. You _ gouged his eye out. I’ve known you what, three weeks? Couldn’t you put the pieces together?” He runs a hand through his hair. Negan’s eye catches on the vein bulging through his temple. 

“I’m not a mind reader, Rick.” His voice is quiet, laced with apology. 

Rick sags. “I know,” he says, voice small. 

“I should go.”

Rick can only nod, though he wonders why he hadn’t extended the invitation for Negan to leave himself. 

“Bye, Rick.”

Rick bites down on his lip. Negan’s long and stalky figure stands with his back towards him, his large hand on the doorknob. 

“Bye,” he says.   
And when he hears the front door close, Rick moves to sit in front of his window, watching Negan walk down the street, out of the gate, and into one of the large black trucks The Saviors commute themselves around in. He watches until they are long gone, and the entirety of Alexandria has finally come to a still, all the tension leaving the streets and gathering right into the base of Rick’s neck, flourishing along the muscles of his shoulders. 

Rick wonders what he should do next as shame leaves his head hanging heavy, as he thinks about facing Maggie, as he thinks about facing Glenn again. 

-

The attic smells like dust and is warm with the sun that pours heavily through the wide window. Everytime one of them breathes, there’s little particles that move around like sand in a breeze.

“I was only talking to him, what’s wrong with that?” Rick tries his best to defend himself, though he knows it is to no avail. 

“Everything!” Maggie says, as though it’s obvious. 

Glenn scoffs, “You weren’t just talking to him, you were  _ reading _ with him! That’s something  _ we _ do together. And your knees were touching! This isn’t the first time you’ve done something like this with him, Rick. How long have you been talking to him?”

“Not long…”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Glenn’s voice is gentle. 

“Because,” Rick sighs, “Because he took your eye out.”

Maggie surges to speak, “Well then that there solves your problem. Bingo! Stop talking to him!”

“But-” Rick stutters. 

“But what?”

“But he likes him,” Glenn interjects, looking Rick in the eyes, expression neutral. Rick wants to sink into the dusty hardwood of the basement, wants to jump out of the circle window and straight into the sunset where he can roast to a crisp under the soft, mellow fire of the setting sun. 

“I don’t,” Rick whispers.

“Yes you do,” Glenn sighs, “and you’re still my friend, okay? I don’t care if he took my eye—okay, maybe I do a little bit—but it’s not like he did it deliberately. He was just... doing what he was told, I guess.” 

“I’m sorry,” Rick says, and he cannot look either of them in the eye.

“It’s alright, dude. I just wish you would’ve told us sooner.”

Rick wrings his hands in his lap, and a silence falls in the center of their small group circle. It grows thicker and thicker until finally Rick is forced to look up, meeting Maggie’s soft yet stone-like gaze. 

“Maggie?” He says.

“I’m sorry, Rick. I’m still your friend, too, but… I don’t like this. I don’t like it one bit.” Her jaw clenches fiercely, her next words coming through the thin filter of her teeth, “You’ll either end up dead or you’ll end up one of them—”   
“Maggie!”

“Don’t Maggie me!” she pushes Glenn’s hand off her shoulder, “I’m tired of it! I’m tired of this  _ Maggie, Maggie, Maggie _ like I’m the one doing something wrong! What do you want me to say? Do you want me to give my blessing? Do you want me to just sit here and be quiet?! Because I won’t, and I’m not sorry, and I mean everything I say!”   
With that, she gets up off the floor and leaves, her footsteps heavy and solid on her way downstairs. Glenn and Rick sit there staring after her, until Rick’s eyes rim heavy with tears and Glenn can’t help but notice his sniffling. 

“She hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you, Rick. Sheesh, she probably hates me more than you right now.”

Rick lets out a wet laugh. 

“I don’t think that’s possible, Glenn. I don’t think Maggie could ever hate you.”

Glenn gives a small smile, his gentle hand meeting Rick’s sagging shoulder. 

“I don’t think she could ever hate you, either,” he says, “Just give her some time. She just needs some time.”

-

In the dead of the night, there’s a firm tap on Rick’s window that to his sleepy brain translates as a loud bang. He shoots up out of sleep, head whipping around. When he sees Negan standing in front of his window, he feels like a fool. When he gets up and goes to let the boy in, he feels like a fool. Still he shuts the window quietly after him, and lets the boy sit on his pitiful bed. Rick is silent for a moment, keeping an ear out for upstairs, making sure there’s no repeat of what had happened earlier in the day. 

“What are you doing here?” Rick asks, sitting in front of Negan. He feels warmth encompass him as he becomes aware of their close proximity. The guilt twisting at the pit of his stomach makes him look away. 

“I just— I wanted to,” Negan takes a deep breath, his fingers tapping nervously against his own knee, “You know I didn’t mean for that shit to happen right? I didn’t fucking plan that, I swear to fucking God. I just, I… the book was good and you smell fucking  _ amazing _ . You were so close to me I couldn’t focus on much.”

Rick stares at him, mouth slightly agape. 

“I like you, Rick,” Negan says, “I think I really like you.”   
The words feel like a fresh breeze, grazing cooly over his skin. Rick closes his eyes and takes it all in. Negan notices the tiny wrinkle of despair between his eyebrows, and his confidence is lost. 

“I can’t like you, Negan.”

“I know, I know. Because of what I did to your friend—”

“I can’t like you,” Rick interrupts, “But I do.”

“You do?”

“I do.”

“Wow,” Negan huffs a disbelieving breath, face stretched in a smile, “Can I kiss you?”

Rick looks at the boy, and his face is shadowed by darkness, illuminated by moonlight and the yellowish lamp light in the corner of Rick’s room. His stubble looks gray and his lips look wet and Rick cannot stop staring at them. His stomach is heavy, both with dread and excitement, warmth and the bitter stony cold he doesn’t understand. Still he leans forwards, breathing out a  _ yes _ before Negan’s bridging the gap, his cold hand cupping Rick’s cheek as their lips meet chastely, then again with more depth. 

When they pull apart, Rick keeps his head down. It sinks lower and lower, weighed down by the amount of guilt that surges through his brain, aching in his chest. Negan presses his lips to Rick’s forehead, just a light pressure, a faint contact. 

It feels good. It feels so good Rick could cry. 

“My friends don’t like you,” Rick says, looking closely at the small dip of Negan’s throat. He watches the boy’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, presses his nose against the skin to feel his pulse. 

“I understand,” Negan says, “They don’t have to.”

Rick frowns. 

_ But I want them to _ , he wishes to say, but feels there’s no way to do so without feeling overwhelmingly selfish. 


End file.
